If You Let Me
by flippedeclipse
Summary: They found her body battered and broken in that base. Garrus had no idea the damage was more than skin-deep. Kinkmeme fill, trigger warnings in the author's note.
1. Chapter 1

Hey look, another kinkmeme fill! This one's a lot darker though.

Trigger warning: There are discussions of rape, but there are_ no graphic depictions_ of the act itself.

The prompt:

_During one of their missions, Shepard is captured and held for a few days or so while the rest of the crew comes to find her. Once they do, she seems like a shell of her former self-functional, still a good commander, but the light has gone out of her. _

_After about a month or so, she goes to Garrus and lays out the whole story-she was raped by her captors, multiple times. This is before their relationship is fully established, but Garrus has been carrying a torch for her for a long time, and vice-versa. Shepard knows that turians have a very cavalier attitude about sex, there's no one she trusts more than him, and she asks if he can do her a favor. She needs to be able to trust her own body again (she's having a somewhat difficult time being naked, even by herself), and believes that being with someone she cares about will start the process of getting over what happened to her._

_I just want to see a night of comfort sex between them that ends with a confession of their feelings for each other._

Constructive crit is especially welcomed on this fic, please let me know what you think! :)

Anyway, hope it entertains!

* * *

If You Let Me

* * *

Chapter 1:

The one time, the _one fucking time _he didn't go, this happens. Garrus sucks in a breath between his teeth as he moves forward down another staircase, the fourth one so far. Miranda and Thane fall into step quietly behind him, just as he glances at the readout on his visor. There's two timers he's been keeping; the bottom one reads four hours, nineteen minutes, but he avoids looking at the other. He wants to preserve whatever shreds of optimism that still linger in his mind.

He pushes open the broken door at the end, using his shoulder for leverage, and purposely ignores the sharp jab of pain that rides up his arm. There's no sign of movement that he can pick up in the brightly-lit, stark white room, and doesn't waste time before he keeps moving. The other two don't choose to comment on his forcefulness and he's grateful for it, because any sound out of their mouths grate on his nerves if he's honest. It's solely their fault that half of Shepard's crew was trawling through these underground bunkers in search of her. Sure, they've run themselves haggard too, but it's too little too late. For two trained killers, one who was an assassin for god's sake, he finds it unbelievable that they'd been knocked out so quickly in the mission and let Shepard be captured, but he's chosen not to comment on it just yet. They've wasted too much time as it is, and there's a life on the line here, one that he can't afford to lose again.

The next door opens automatically, and he's lucky when the first bullet from the one of the mercs barely nicks his shields. Every fight in this place is surreal, with flashes of blue armour occasionally streaking the otherwise simple, white scenery. The place is like a hospital, with fluorescent lights overhead and the walls are painted that ghastly, milk colour that makes everything hard and easy to see at the same time. He remembers a place like this, a derelict ship they'd boarded once; even Shepard had gotten lost in there. He wonders if he's lost, if he's been going in circles despite the fact that he's been descending further into the underground bunker for hours now. Maybe he's more tired than he'll admit to. Still, he doesn't like the place, it feels off, almost alien, for lack of a better term. He finds it hard to believe that all these troops lived in here, because it feels more like an asylum than a command base.

Garrus takes point as the other two flank him, and not for the first time he feels unsettled, uncomfortable. Taking Shepard's position in a firefight leaves a bad taste in his mouth, like he's not supposed to be doing this, that he should be taking her right side and be able to see the stripe of red on her helmet in his peripherals at all times. But all he catches this time are flashes of Thane's green skin, and the awful taste intensifies. His shields nearly fail while his mind is half-occupied on these pointless musings and he ducks behind the nearest storage crate, waiting for them to charge up again. He takes these few seconds to glance at the top timer, and the pit of his stomach sinks horribly to the point that nausea crawls up his throat. He knows how much time it's been after all, seeing as they had wasted four days trying to avoid the damn AA guns while landing the shuttle, but knowing the truth doesn't make it any easier to swallow when it's written plain as day for him to see. They passed the limit where hope was still an option two days ago. Now even his desperation was waning.

He takes two dozen more lives in the next two hours, some even at point blank range, even though he'd always teased Shepard at her up-close-and-personal style of fighting. Unladylike, he'd called it, and it earned him a playful punch. He hoped to whatever deities existed, if there even were any, that he'd be able to do that all over again soon. That she was okay, so that she could visit him in the battery again and he could try to draw out one of her precious grins with his awful jokes. So that he can never let her convince him to stay behind on a mission again, because although she doesn't need protecting he feels the need to do it anyway, especially after this incident. So that he can finally make good on the feelings that have been creeping up on him ever since she found him half-dead on Omega.

When they reach the seventh floor, he knows that they're reaching the end; EDI's schematics hadn't shown anything deeper than this. He clicks his mandibles against his jaw when he pumps another trooper's stomach full of metal, ignoring the blood that had spattered against his armour. For a moment he stops to watch the life disappear from the man's eyes, and it's both a horrifying and fascinating sight. He never stayed to watch these things, they'd worm their way into your brain and eat your sanity from the inside out if you did, but just this one time, he watched. He snaps out of it when he realizes the same could be happening (not happened, _not happened_) to Shepard, and avoids the eyes of his companions as they no doubt stare at him. He checks the clock again: six hours, forty-two minutes. He picks up his pace.

He's caught off-guard when the pass into the next hallway, which is so dramatically different than the open cargo hold they just left. The first thing he notices are the dim, flickering lights, and then an intense stench that almost made him turn back. He doesn't know how to explain it, it's rotting flesh, the blood of half a dozen species, and fecal matter all at the same time, with hints of acid and hydrogen sulphide. He has to make a conscious effort to stop himself from vomiting on the floor. Miranda and Thane are just as affected, the former hanging on to the door frame to keep herself steady. The genetic enhancements definitely wouldn't be helpful now.

Garrus pulls himself together quickly though, and turns on the flashlight on his assault rifle. The hallway itself is filthy, with streaks of mud and putrid yellow muck lining the walls, along with blood stains that are the colour of a dozen different species. It's almost like a repulsive rainbow. He's able to make out evenly-spaced doors on either wall, stretching on beyond his range of sight, and if C-Sec taught him anything, then this is definitely a prison. There's no doubt in his mind that Shepard's somewhere here.

He taps the inactive hologel on the nearest door and it flashes red; the power's on, but it'll take some hacking.

"Open up each one, search them thoroughly," he orders into his comm, though there's no hostility or real semblance of command in his tone, it's just a badly-worded request.

Miranda, however, turns to look at him, her nose still a little crinkled from the smell. "We shouldn't waste time searching -" she starts, but he spins to face her and fixes her with a neutral look, that betrays neither his anger at being second-guessed or his impatience to keep moving.

"Shepard has to be somewhere here. Just do it."

The woman pauses and stares back at him for a moment, before breathing in sharply and turning on her heel towards the nearest cell. He doesn't know why she doesn't argue further, but he doesn't question it; it's none of his concern.

His omnitool interface illuminates a little more of the area around him as he loads up his hacking software before beginning. They've secured the doors well, which he suspects is to keep those without access, both hostile or friendly, out. He's got better equipment and much more skill on his side though, and it only takes a minute to open up the door. The familiar patterns of keystrokes makes him more aware of the sensory data he's been ignoring for a while, like the chatter of voices in his ear from the other team and the ache in his neck. He continues to ignore the latter and focuses on the former as he types away at the code, the familiar sound of pinging keys on three omnitools echoing in the otherwise-silent hallway. From what he can gather, the other team is on the other side of the bunker but not on the bottom floor, perhaps the fifth or sixth one. The Blue Suns aren't exactly known for their intelligence, but their architect is damn good at their job, seeing as they'd split the whole compound in half with no access to the other side. Reduces security compromises from enemies or employees, though Shepard's team is lucky in that they have numbers and skill on their side this time. His attention focuses back on the door when he hears his omnitool ping, announcing that the door's locks had been hacked through.

It opens with one tap on the circular hologel interface, and the first thing he notices is the darkness. He hears another door open behind him as he clicks on his flashlight again. The room's nearly empty, except for ragged sheets laid out on the floor in one corner; no doubt it had served as blankets for some poor soul once. He catches a glimpse of a pail in the corner too, and he doesn't need to think hard to imagine what it had been used for once. There's bones shoved into the left corner closest to him that are too big to be from animals, but they're broken, shattered, and picked clean. By what, he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to step in any further either but he does, searching every inch of the room for clues as to what had happened here. There's dried blood on the floor beneath his feet, though it's so old and faded that he has trouble identifying whether it's of asari or turian origin. He sucks in a breath and turns away, trying to ignore the stinging the air leaves in his throat. He doesn't need to see any more.

He can barely hear Thane murmuring prayers for the lost unconsciously, and for the first time Garrus wishes he has his own to say for the victims of these atrocities. To think that Shepard may have been subjected to the same thing... he can't dwell on it right now. He needs to keep his head clear. All three of them are methodical and disconnected in their search as they hack and examine dozens of rooms, but Garrus knows this is the stuff of nightmares that will haunt him for days afterward. He doesn't know if this is worse than the horrors he'd seen on the Collector ship, because at least the Collectors were under Reaper control. This was the deed of fellow turians and humans acting out of their own free will. He glances at his visor readout every so often to keep track of time; the seven hour mark passes, and then the seven-thirty mark. He gets a little more careless with his searches in his rush.

It's right after the seven-forty-five mark passes that they finally find her. Miranda's voice actually stutters when she calls out for them, and Garrus has never moved so fast in his life. There's fresh blood on the floor of this room, still sticky and warm, and his mind shorts for a split second when he sees that it's red. Miranda's kneeling on the ground, her suit's going to be filthy but Garrus doesn't notice that as much as the limp body lying across her lap. There's dirt caked on Shepard's face and her undersuit is ripped in places, but there's no mistaking her red hair. She's nearly unrecognizable otherwise, from the bruises and cuts that cover her face and exposed skin. It physically hurts to see her like this.

For a moment he panics because her body seems unnaturally still, but when he drops to one knee beside Miranda he's able to focus on the readout on his visor, and a sense of relief washes over him when he sees that she's still breathing. Her ECG graph plugs away steadily as he watches the jagged lines of her heartbeat pan out on the screen for a good fifteen seconds; it's faint, but it's there, and suddenly all the exhaustion, anger, and fear he's been feeling for nearly five days now seeps out of him. _She's alive_, he repeats in his head, _she's actually alive_.

Thankfully Thane still has his senses about him and acts immediately while Garrus is caught in his brief paralysis. "Is she still bleeding?" comes his raspy voice, and Garrus snaps out of it and jerks his head towards the other two. Urgency sets in within a split second as he realizes that they're not safe, they need to get out of here.

"No, but it's a shoddy job," Miranda says, her voice steadier now. "I've applied medigel but she needs medical care, now. Page the other team."

Thane, Spirits bless him, doesn't hesitate before turning away and doing just that. Miranda focuses on him now. "Pick her up, be careful, she's injured badly."

Garrus grunts in reply and bends to pick up Shepard's limp form, and he's just able to hear the creak of aching joints rubbing against one another in her body; he grits his teeth together until they make a similar sound. She's unnaturally light for someone whose body is filled with cybernetics, and it worries him, incredibly so. He holds on to her body tighter than he should, then meets Miranda's eyes again.

There's no questioning what she's silently saying. They _need_ to _go_.

The moment Thane's done speaking, Garrus stops thinking. He just runs.

* * *

Note: Credit is due where it's due, the last line in particular was heavily inspired by a chapter in Life Signs by Tarysande. If you haven't read it I highly recommend it, it's amazing :)


	2. Chapter 2

To Garrus, it feels like he's never done waiting, wishing, hoping, praying. He paces in a rhythmic pattern across the width of the battery over and over again, unconsciously chewing on his lower mouth plates until they sting and itch. He should be sleeping like the rest of the crew, but he can't find it within himself to do so, not when Shepard's lying on a hospital bed just a few metres away. He can't stop moving either, even though he's beyond exhausted; he's been running on stims for nearly five days, which is longer than the time he'd spent staving off suicide-by-merc on Omega.

She's been in surgery for more than four hours. He's tried to ask Chakwas during her two-minute breaks to get some fresh air, but she blows him off every time while the crease between her eyebrows deepens. Human expressions can be subtle sometimes, but he doesn't miss this one, and it nags at the back of his mind. There's something he's not privy to here, something he needs to figure out.

He stops mid-step and braces himself against the port-side wall, then breathes in deeply. Exhaustion's catching up on him, making everything fuzzy and disconnected, but he doesn't know where he threw his stim pills when they finally got back onboard. He'd been more concerned with checking on Shepard, and somehow the left-over adrenaline from the firefight had kept him awake for the past few hours. The doctor would have his head for this, but he'll need to take a few more, just enough to keep himself awake until he can go see her. His knees bend of their own accord and his back slips down the wall, until he's sitting on the floor, the chill from the metal underfoot not quite reaching his body through his armour. He tries to rub away the fatigue from his face with one hand, but it doesn't really work.

Sleep's a sneaky fucker, it'll linger in the shadows and pounce at the best opportunity, and it doesn't fail to deliver this time either. It gets harder to open his eyelids but he resists, because if he's honest with himself he's a little wary of falling asleep. It's the nightmares really, that make him relive moments in the past that he doesn't want to remember again, moments that leave him in a cold sweat when he wakes up in the middle of the night. They'd started after Omega, but that wasn't very surprising; staring at a friend's face as the life was leeched out of him tended to leave a few scars on the mind. He can probably count the events of the past twelve hours amongst those that'll haunt his dreams, so he's in no rush to let his subconscious relive tonight again.

He pulls himself up slowly, and every joint in his body aches in protest at the movement; he tries to ignore it but he just doesn't have the energy to anymore. The desk on the other side of the room is a mess, with gun parts, rations, and medigel scattered everywhere haphazardly, and he rifles through the mess in search of those stims. Things clatter to the ground but he pays no heed as he searches with one hand, while the other works on unbuckling his armour. Each hard clang of metal against metal sends a sharp stab of pain through his brain, but it's nice to feel the weight coming off his shoulders and chest.

He finds the little plastic jar he's been hunting for near the bottom of the pile, twists off the cap with his teeth, and swallows three without water. It hurts, and he might have gone a little overboard with the dose, but it'll be fine he's sure. He taps open his omnitool and sets his visor to run his current playlist for the next three hours on full volume before sinking down onto the ground on the same spot as before, just as the familiar pins-and-needles rush of energy sears through his brain again, leeching the last reserves of adrenaline he had left. He was going to pay for this soon, he knew, but for now he was content with letting his eyes close to just rest for a while.

* * *

It's late, or maybe it's really early. His biological clock has gone haywire, so Garrus isn't sure anymore. What he's very sure of is the fact that Tali's shaking him violently, and although he's certain he didn't fall asleep, his eyes are still bleary as he blinks rapidly to clear up his vision. He looks up at the little quarian who's mouthing words furiously at him, but he can't hear her through the music blasting through his visor. It takes time for his neurons to fire, to make him realize that _oh shit_ he had to turn the thing off to hear her. It takes him longer still to key in the command on his omnitool before Tali reaches forward to rip the visor off herself, and he's saved right at the nick of time as her filtered voice comes through to him finally.

"-Ancestors help me with this bosh'tet, this _idiot_, what have you been-"

"Tali," he interrupts her, and tries to smile up at her, but his mandibles only twitch weakly. He realizes he must be in bad shape if he can't even do a simple facial gesture, but that's a concern for another time. Right now he's got an angry woman to deal with.

She blinks at him when he speaks, then straightens back up to her full height and rests a hand on her hip. "You look awful," she says, clearly stating the obvious.

Garrus runs a hand over his face again and sighs. "Yeah, didn't sleep well."

"You mean at all."

He narrows his eyes when he looks up at her; she barely shields out the fluorescent lighting above. "What?"

She leans over and picks up the bottle he'd left near his feet, then shakes it in his face. "You've been on your feet for days already, are you _trying _to kill yourself?"

He rubs his facial plates again with one hand, this time in exasperation. "No -"

"Then why would -"

"It's not important," he interrupts, then looks up at her before pulling himself up to his feet. His muscles and joints are stiff and smarting; he'll have to take something for that later. He checks the time on his visor, they're halfway through the nightshift, and he realizes that it's way too early for Tali to still be up. He faces her again, struggling to keep his eyes from drooping. "It's late Tali, why are you here?"

He could've sworn she just rolled her eyes, but he can't be sure because of the mask. "Doctor Chakwas sent me here to check on you, she's worried that you've been overworking yourself. Apparently she was right," she says, punctuating her last word with a glare.

He stares at her blankly before something clicks in his mind. "What about Shepard?"

"She's fine, Garrus," she says, a little exasperated. "They finished surgery a couple of hours ago, but-"

Garrus jerks towards the door, but Tali's quicker, and he's surprised at her strength as she keeps him rooted in place. "Stop. Get dressed, then wash up or something. You look like you've been mauled by a varren." He opens his mouth to retort, but then decides against it. She's right about the former at least. He acquiesces, and Tali seems pleased, before shaking the bottle in front of his face again. "I'm taking these, and I'll make sure Chakwas won't give you any more until the next mission, when you _actually _need them."

He tries to grab it but she pockets it before he can get a grip, and he sighs again. "Don't be difficult, Tali, I won't use them again."

She turns toward the door and looks at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed behind her faceplate. "You are such a liar, Vakarian." She rolls her eyes again, this time he definitely catches it, before stepping delicately out of the room, leaving him in her wake. He turns and tries to catch a reflection of himself in the glass covering his console, and he's not surprised that he looks just as bad, if not worse, than Tali said. His plates are chipping and flaky, and there's a scaly patch along the side of his neck. Gross. There's no way he can go into the med bay looking like this, even if it's urgent, and he regrets his decision to not sleep more than ever now, but he'll just have to live with it. He finds his bar of soap somehow amongst the mess on his table, then drags himself out of the battery and towards the showers.

* * *

He feels better after a hot shower, if only because his plates have stopped shedding everywhere and he's not as itchy anymore. The mess hall is busy this early in the day shift, but Garrus isn't surprised, except perhaps for the fact that he can spot Dr. Chakwas in amongst the others. He contemplates speaking to her for a moment, but she's occupied in a conversation with Miranda, so instead he heads towards the med bay doors. He doesn't hesitate before walking through them, and perhaps that's a side effect of sleep deprivation, because he doesn't stop to think about what could be waiting for him on the other side, about whether he's ready to see it.

Thankfully though, he has no reason to worry. Mordin and Shepard are the only occupants of the room, the former working away on a datapad and the latter fast asleep on a bed in the corner. Mordin looks up at him and nods, maybe even smiles slightly at him, but Garrus isn't thinking quick enough to catch it. He returns the gesture before indicating towards Shepard, silently asking the salarian's permission. Mordin nods again before returning his attention to his work, and Garrus sucks in a deep breath before stepping towards Shepard.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous; his whole body is swimming in anxiety, and it's not the stims this time. He breathes out slowly when he feels the cool metal frame of the bed under his fingertips, and stares down at her face. There's angry red lines tracing along her exposed skin, but they're mostly healed, and he can't see any other sign of injury. She looks peaceful otherwise, and if the circumstances were different, he'd find some semblance of serenity in it. Instead his exhausted mind starts working faster, tracing over the cuts again and again. He finds himself swallowing of his own accord, there's something wrong here but he can't quite place it, he kicks himself for not getting any sleep because if he'd gotten any he would have figured this out instantly, the answer's so obvious and it's right there on the tip of his tongue, what's wrong with these marks Vakarian, think, think, _think_ -

Her eyes twitch and eyelids squeeze, and his concentration's broken. He lets out the breath he's been holding in unconsciously and looks around. Mordin had slipped out apparently and he hadn't even noticed, damn. Her hand's peeking out from between the covers and he studies it for a moment; her cuticles are torn but not bleeding, her nails worn down more than usual. There's a line running down one finger and he reaches forward and traces it ever so lightly, before placing his own hand on hers briefly. Her combat training hasn't been dulled by the anesthesia apparently, for at that very moment her eyes snap open, pupils growing bigger as her vision focuses on him. He pulls his hand away quickly, but it's too late.

She blinks at him for a moment, her face expressionless, before her eyebrows draw together slightly. "Garrus?" she mumbles, her voice clogged with sleep.

He can't stop the slight flare of his mandibles upon hearing her voice. "Hey Shepard," he says just as quietly.

She squints at him. "You look like shit," she deadpans, and he can't help it, he laughs. The stress he's been under for the past five days falls away as if it never existed; Shepard's alive, she's okay, and she's still here. He looks away and his mandibles flare wider in a genuine smile, head shaking slightly.

"It's good to see you too," he replies eventually, looking back up at her. The corner of her mouth twitches up half a centimetre as she pulls her hand back under the sheets. He watches as she blinks at him groggily, before raising herself onto one elbow. He definitely doesn't miss the way she winces a little at the action.

"What time is it?" she asks, looking around the empty med bay. Her eyes seem to rest at the unused surgical equipment lying on one of the carts nearby, and her eyebrows furrow again.

"Just an hour into the day shift," he replies, moving to lean against the wall by her bed as she props herself up. He has to consciously stop himself from helping her up, because he knows she doesn't really need his support, even though he wants to give it anyway. He scoffs softly; would he ever have the courage to tell her something like that?

She moves slowly, carefully, as she straightens and sits up, the sheets falling away to expose her hospital gown. Her arms are exposed and laced with those pale red marks, and he almost says something about them before she turns to look at him. It's her turn to grasp at words as her mouth opens, then closes, before she observes her surroundings again, confusion filtering over her face.

"You okay?" he asks gently. She only nods in response; it's not difficult to guess that she has a dozen questions right now. A long silence stretches between them, broken only when she speaks again.

"How long have I been out?"

Does she mean on a hospital bed or on the floor of a prison cell? "I don't know," he answers honestly.

She sighs and stretches her arms over her head. He winces a little when the joints in her shoulders pop, but the expression of relief that comes over her face says that it wasn't quite as painful as he thought. When she looks at him again he knows instantly that she's changed from confused to collected, that she has her commander persona on again, but he can't think clearly enough to understand why she's closed up. Her legs swing over the side of the bed and she smiles at him properly this time; she seems genuine, but something feels off, almost unnatural.

There's a dozen things he wants to say, but she simply doesn't give him time to think them through and say them. It's been barely ten minutes since she woke up and she's already peeling the sensors off her body, so Garrus quits contemplating and moves to stop her, but she beats him to it by fixing him in place with a look. "There's no way I'm going to sit around here," she says, "hooked up to a bunch of machines."

"Shepard, you went through surgery a few hours ago," he rebukes, but she peers up through her eyelashes at him and sends him a grin that he can't say no to.

"I'm _fine_, Garrus. You probably need to rest more than I do anyway," she says lightly, her grin widening just a little bit. "Cybernetic enhancements, remember?"

He sighs, then runs a hand over his fringe. "Look, I'm not saying you can't handle yourself -"

"You are."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her sing-song tone. "Listen Shepard, you were in pretty bad shape down there, I really think you should let Chakwas at least have a look at you before you go." H's beseeching her but it doesn't seem to have an effect, as she pushes off the bed and stands up. Her legs wobble and his body jerks towards her unconsciously, but she staves him off with one hand until she's steady, then gives him a "told you so" look.

"See? Nothing to worry about." When she sees that he's still tense and fixated on her, she sighs and tilts her head. "I can take care of myself just fine, Vakarian."

When he hears his last name, he realizes he's been babying her when he really has no right to. Despite his anxiety over the past few days, Shepard's still his XO, and he has no business acting like this with her. He stiffens and backs off a little, giving her space. "Sorry, Commander," he replies, trying his best to keep his tone even. "Just been a stressful few days."

Her face softens into a kinder expression. "I appreciate the concern, I do. I'm fine though, but you look like you could really use some rest." He opens his mouth to argue, but she shuts him up with a gesture of her hand. "You're relieved of duties for the day, Garrus, now go, I'd like to change out of this stupid gown."

He considers staying to say one more thing, but he doesn't know what. Thank you? I'm glad you're okay? Take care of yourself Commander? It all sounds foolish in his head, so for once he doesn't think about the order he's following; he just does it, and resists the urge to look back.


End file.
